Fantasy, Shut Your Mouth
by Herrmitts
Summary: Integra and Seras journey into the mouth of madness to battle remorseless Tolkein pastiches and parodies, harangue pointyeared freaks, and leave Pip to get all the best lines. Quite possibly the worst story you've read this year or your money back


_A no-frills farce with no-thrills. Not to be taken seriously._

_Or orally._

_If either occurs: induce vomiting._

* * *

**FANTASY, SHUT YOUR MOUTH**

It was a dark and stormy night, which is the usual sort of weather for these sort of times oddly enough, but at least in this case everyone was prepared for it. Even the met office, and that was saying something.

Reg Horten punched the lorry into fourth gear with one tattooed hand, and applied a little bit of brake. The windscreen wipers squeaked across the cab's glass, more for effect than anything else – they were doing as well as King Canute – leaving dark grey streaks. The radio was belting out Steppenwolf, which was the sort of thing that makes rain-drenched driving on the M25 barely acceptable, and Reg was singing along so loudly and so badly that he almost missed the horse overtake him at 60 mph.

It was a big horse, and white, which was surprising because outside the cab everything looked grey and blurry apart from the headlights. But still, the horse was white. And big. And galloping. And more importantly, it was doing so just enough to overtake Reg's lorry, which wasn't exactly a Ferrari, but it wasn't a bloody pedal bike either.

Sod this for a laugh, he thought. He pushed the accelerator down. The horse, which was occupying the strip of gravel, weeds and assorted coke-cans and rubbish that was just off the inside lane, slowly disappeared from his window. He checked the mirror, just in time to see the horse start reappearing in his window. First the head, grey mane flashing… then the powerful cords of the neck straining visibly… then the body, shiny white and almost glowing… and then the impression, a translucent, almost shimmering impression of someone or something sitting astride it.

Even though Reg was now doing 70 mph, in the rain, the horse was accelerating like a whippet with a rocket up its arse. It was moving. Like greased lightning. Like a flash of ivory down London's main motorway. Then, without breaking stride, it turned up the embankment, breakneck speed up the verge and vanished.

Reg pulled over at the nearest opportunity, then smoked cigarettes until he was puffing like a steam train, the cab was choked with smog, and his fingertips were burnt. When that was done, he phoned the police.

This was only the first report of this type that night. Overall, there would be fifty-seven such incidents across half-a-dozen counties. It was only the next day, and by then too late for anything to be done about it, that anyone noticed that the reports followed an almost straight line across the country towards a stately home on the outskirts of west London.

When the police checked who the stately home belonged to, they didn't bother to look any further. Even rocket-powered horses aren't strange enough to ask _them_ about it…

- - - - - - - - -

The dogs were going ballistic, howling and baying even as the dog-handlers tried to stop them, so that the noise could be heard right through the kennel's walls and out across the grounds, and worse yet – right into the mansion itself.

Those few guards who were on duty at the time, and had been huddling beneath the house's awning against the storm, shuddered involuntarily as they realised that _she_ would be woken. And even as they thought it, there was a sudden roar – even above the wind – which seemed to rattle the windows in their panes and wring the leaves from their branches.

**_"ALUCARD! STOP PISSING ABOUT!"_**

Integra Hellsing – orphan, nobility, heir and commander-in-chief of unholy retribution – cursed loudly, ripped off her bedding and lunged out of bed, to stomp loudly towards her bedroom door and also attempt to rip that apart, although in this case off its hinges. So there she stood, eye twitching, breasts heaving, night-gown clad, feet bare, face bleached, hair straggly, spectacles half-hanging, gun in hand, glowering blonde hellion of sleep deprivation, all ready for war.

She looked up and down the landing, its night-lights soft and warm, but it was empty. She looked up and checked the ceiling, but no – he wasn't there either. She cocked the automatic, and fired a round into the telephone table on the other side of the hall (he'd had a habit, lately, of squeezing himself whilst in his gelatinous, shapeless form into awkward spaces; like drawers, and saucepans, and – in one notorious case – her underwear), but this didn't seem to elicit anything other than two guards bursting into the landing, guns ready, and then shuffling away quietly when they saw her state of dress.

"Alucard." She roared again. "Get out here. NOW."

There was a moment or two of sudden silence, even the groan of the wind abating, and the temperature dropped a few degrees – Integra dutifully covering her bosom as it did, and then with an soft, drawn-out sigh, something bubbled up from the floorboards.

It oozed out from the cracks, pooling black and shiny, like tar, and then an egg-sized lump swelled out of it like a boil. Up, up, up, until finally… it popped. It split, ragged, from end to end with a noise like a bubble bursting, and the edges unfurled like an opening eyelid – which, indeed, it was. The iris swirled around leisurely, looking one way, then the other, then fixed on Integra's face. It blinked. Then the rest of the liquid began to rise, forming a pillar, then a man-like shape, then – finally – a man.

Or, at least, as much of a man as one can call Alucard.

He grinned. It was not a nice grin. "You rang, my master?"

"What," started Integra, "are you winding those dogs up again for?"

"Winding up dogs?"

"Winding up dogs," Integra repeated.

"I wasn't." Alucard's grin widened to a smile. It was even less nice than the grin had been, and that was saying something. He cocked his head, and listened. The dogs were still barking. "Are they keeping you up?" he asked with mock-innocence.

"No, they're entertaining me with a delightful rendition of Handel's _Agrippina_." Her voice didn't waver. "Why do you think this is necessary?"

"Do you want me to shut them up?" he asked. Now his eyes began to smile.

"No, I don't want you to shut them up."

"Are you sure, Sir Integra?"

"I'm very sure, Alucard." She smoothed her hair down a bit. Or at least tried to. "I have been busy. All day. I have been working. All day. You, however, have been sitting down in your basement… drinking wine. Unlike you I do need to sleep, Alucard. If you don't stop this, I will be irate in the morning, and temperamental, and you would not like me when I am irate and temperamental, and anything you did to annoy me during that period would be detrimental to your well-being. I have been thinking up some very novel ways of keeping you in pain, Alucard, and you can be sure I will be using them if… those… dogs… do… not… SHUT. UP."

Alucard nodded. "There is one problem."

"And what is that?"

"Those dogs – are not my doing."

Integra thought about that, and everything it entailed. Finally she said:

"Oh."

- - - - - - - - -

"I want defences picked up," said Integra. For emphasis, she slammed her hand on the table – which always seemed to work. In this case, however, all it did was give her more of a headache.

They were standing in the living-room on the first floor, with its leather-chairs and book-cabinets and neat silverware sets. There was Integra, who had been so rushed she was still dressed in her silk nighty, and looking quite literally like she'd got out of bed; Alucard was lounging on a sofa, beside him Seras. She was also dressed in her nighty, which was cotton and machine-washable and compared to Integra's also very baggy, which seemed to have been a decision for purchase. Her eyes were blood-shot, which made Integra wonder whether the young vampire had been sneaking extra blood rations before bed. Then there was Walter, pristine as usual, brewing some tea ("At times like this, a brew-up _IS_ defence"). Pip was leading the valiant security outside, which involved delivering thermos flasks of coffee to all the exterior guards and making sure the tennis court had been locked, because tramps kept sneaking in and sleeping in the storage shed.

"What makes you think it's an attack?" asked Seras. It came out sounding like a groan.

Walter poured out the cups. "I have to admit," he said as he did, "it does seem like an odd sort of time for an attack. Because it is raining. And vampires don't like rain."

"I do," Seras replied. She took the cup Walter gave her. "But that might just be me. I used to like jellied eels as well."

"Leaving that aside," said Integra with more tact than was usual, "I want defence increased. I want everyone outside and armed. We're not having another Valentine incident."

Everyone groaned. And the telephone rang. Integra answered it.

"Main gate here," said the voice on the other end. "I've got a woman on a horse to see you, Sir Integra."

Suddenly alert, Integra covered the mouthpiece. "Get ready," she whispered. "There's someone at the main gate." Going back to the phone: "Main gate, keep her there. We're sending down Alucard and Seras."

"Erm…" said the voice. "I've just let her through, though."

Integra blinked. "What do you mean you let her through?"

"I just… well, I just. Er. Let her through. Sir."

"You're in serious trouble," said Integra before putting the phone down and calling the guard-room.

"Guard-room, you have a female coming through – stop her at all costs."

"Female, sir?"

"Yes."

"She's on her way up, sir."

Integra looked at Alucard. Alucard looked at Integra. Almost instantly his cheerful façade unpeeled to reveal the psychopathic seriousness underneath, and he got up from his seat. "Police girl… come with me."

"But I don't have my gun, master," Seras said, but it came out as more of a moan.

Except it wasn't really necessary for her to worry about that, because even as the words left her lips, the doors to the room opened with a resounding crash…

And Hoarfrost blew in.

- - - - - - - - - -

The woman moved not unlike she was on a skateboard, sort of rolling across the tile floor. She was wearing a long blue cloak that swept the ground, hood pulled up, and even cloaked she was obviously a woman with inny and outty and curvy bits in all the right places. And so she swept into the room, a cold breeze following her, then overtaking her, and then – seeming to enjoy the room – making itself at home.

She stood there for a moment, then with long, well manicured fingers, she reached up and undid the clasp that kept her hood up. It slid down and the cloak opened.

The woman was beautiful. Not in the abstract beautifulness that people relate to, but in the real honest to god sexuality of true gorgeous loveliness. It was the sort of stunning that'd make women question their sexual identity. It could well have made mere mortal men soil their undergarments with lustful brain-created visages. She was thin, and certainly had the inny and outty bits, with a perfectly crafted face and aquiline nose. Her skin was, to quote the cliché, white and creamy as whitish cream. Her hair was so black it looked like it was blue. Her eyes were dark and almond-shaped. Her lips, full-bodied and ripe, were pale pink.

She was wearing a fancy looking dress which covered and clung rather staidly, but at the same time hinted at a raw animal magnetism.

"Right you;" said Integra. "Get out of my house."

"I am Hoarfrost of Annwyvn," the woman said, seemingly not hearing or otherwise caring. Her voice charmed like the tinkling of a thousand tubular-bells. "Princess of Elstrom, Queen of Ice. I have journeyed here from the troubled Elf land of Annwyvn, Sir Integra, to beg assistance from you."

And with that she knelt on the floor and bowed her head, so that her hair spilled out in a dark corona across the tiles.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that," said Seras, "we haven't swept up in here since Tuesday."

Hoarfrost, her shimmering locks flowing down to frame her youthful face, stood up straight and glided across to Walter, where she bowed again. "Oh, Sir Integra – please aid us."

"Erm…" said Walter, who had his mono-wires out and primed for lacerating the intruder's face into a rather interesting abstract jigsaw puzzle.

"There is much war in the land of Annwvyn, and a hero is needed – a warrior of strength and guile and wit – a man needed to save its people." She raised her gaze to him, and her top lip gave a tiny, but perceivable emotional quiver.

"Er… now, now, my dear," said Walter. He looked to the others for guidance, but apart from Integra – whose eye was twitching again – they seemed more interested in watching how he'd fail, and in what hilarious manner he'd do it in.

"Whore-faust, or whatever you call yourself," Integra snapped, managing to extricate Walter from his predicament, "I couldn't care less what you're here for. I don't take kindly to people ruining my sleep and breaking into my house. Get out, before I have Alucard throw you out. Or eat you. Or possibly both."

The Princess of Elstrom looked over at the irate bitch-Queen-of-Hearts, and cocked an eyebrow. "M'lady, your tongue is quick but caustic and needs be held. I am talking to Lord Hellsing, son of Arthur, saviour of the folk."

"Excuse me," said Seras raising her hand, "just that, you should probably know, Sir Integra is a woman."

Hoarfrost looked Walter up and down. "Really?"

"I am Sir Integra," Sir Integra said, and looked daggers, although being dressed in a silk nighty that would have come across as good-looking if not for the sleep-deprived occupant removing the effect somewhat, especially considering the receiver could have stepped out of a commercial for "Head & Shoulders: Just For Greek Goddesses".

There was a rapid deflation of air; the room began to warm. Princess Hoarfrost sagged visibly for a moment, her lips pursing into a thin line of annoyed embarrassment, and then she turned without moving and drifted across to Sir Integra. She bowed.

"Oh, Sir Integra – please aid us. There is much war in the land of Annwvyn, and a hero is needed – a warrior of strength and guile and wit – a woman needed to save its people."

"I demand an explanation for this," demanded Integra, feeling somewhat put upon, but rather grateful she'd got the upper hand. She looked across at the other occupants of the room. Alucard appeared decidedly pale – which considering he was undead vampire, was no mean feat.

"I demand I tell you," Hoarfrost said simply.

Integra thought about it.

"Alright then."

- - - - - - - - - -

"The land of Annwvyn is the land of the fey-folk, the gentle people, beyond the sea of Albion, to the shores of Avalon." Hoarfrost leant forward and appeared to take a sip from the cup of tea on the table, before sitting back. "However, a great war has brewed between the Seelie and Unseelie courts, the two lands and people. The Fey-Queen has called forth for champions, as our battles are defeated by the might and viciousness of the cruel and barbarous Unseelie folk and the vermicious creatures they breed for despicable, unwholesome and impure acts." She pulled a lace hankie from her sleeve and blew her nose. "They're so dreadfully unsanitary." Her kerchief came back laced with ice-crystals. "And we thought it prudent to call upon the champion – the son… er… daughter of Hellsing. Like your forebears."

The rest of the room sat and looked at her for a long time.

"I don't see how this is my problem," said Integra after a bit. "It all sounds a bit far-fetched. And I have things to do here – there's paperwork; requisition forms, ammunition quotas, blood bank signings." She frowned. "No, this is all very silly."

"Please, my lady, you must heed me; if Annwvyn falls, so shall the realm of Man."

"Oh, well! In that case why didn't you say so?" Integra cried. She clapped her hands.

"I knew you'd came through for us!" The princess grinned a shining beautiful grin like a thousand petals unfurling on a summer's day. "Blessed be!"

Integra smiled just as widely. "It's still a no. Alucard: get rid of her."

Nobody moved. Alucard just sat there.

"Alucard, now-"

"I'm not touching a faerie," said Alucard.

The effect was akin to a turd being found floating in a swimming pool. With a heart-rending little shriek, Hoarfrost stuck her fingers in her ears and hummed loudly to herself, stamping her feet in time to whatever she was doing. This sudden, almost autistic act had the equally stupefying result of forcing everyone other than Alucard to just sit there and watch this obscure little ritual in absolute, horrified silence.

When she was finished, she took her fingers out of her ears. "Don't say that again. Don't you say that again."

"What?" asked Alucard. "A faerie telling what to say or not?"

There was another little shriek and the ritual was repeated, although this time to the other occupants with more distaste than shock.

"Fey-folk!" cried Hoarfrost sweetly. "FEY-FOLK!"

Alucard opened his mouth. Integra filled the silence for him: "Alucard; call her by what she wants to be called."

The vampire made a face and slouched back, head turned away, in an uncharacteristic sulk.

Seras, who had been listening intently, pondered on this. "So, you mean fey-folk as in… you know… fairy?"

Everyone else threw up their hands, apart from Hoarfrost who stuck them in her ears.

"I mean, I'm a fey-folk. An elf," she said once done.

"I thought fey-folk were little," Integra wondered aloud. "I haven't met one before, though. Then again, I suppose you don't see a lot of them these days."

"Not like vampires," said Walter, pouring another round of char.

"No, not like vampires," Seras agreed. "Two a penny – vampires."

"Oh, you mean brownies and pixies and hob-goblins." Hoarfrost graciously turned down Walter's offer of another cup of tea, considering that although she'd been drinking from her first, it hadn't actually gone down at all, and then counted off on her fingers. "At the top there's us:" she began, "the noble elfs, who make up the Seelie and Unseelie courts; then there's the house-elves and hob-goblins, who help the mortal folk; and then there's the trolls and Spriggan who eat people; and the little people and pixies who… do other things. That only they know about." She looked at Integra. "Do you have any cakes?"

Walter found a half-eaten packet of cherry Bakewell tarts in the spirits cabinet, and handed them out to everyone who would eat them. It was while Queen Hoarfrost sucked longingly on a Mr. Kipling pastry, that Integra pondered on the general discomforting feeling that rolled around in her gut. It was a feeling she knew rather well – being, as it was, the feeling of dark unflinching terror, heightened by the fact she was the embodiment of dark unflinching terror, although in her case it was rather by a snide smile and a cock of the head rather than disembowelling and impalement. This she left to Alucard.

Yet still, the feeling meant something. Generally it cropped up when something bad was about to happen – like vampire attack, rampaging Nazi invasion or revenue audits – at which point her iron-and-granite-like intestinal fortitude would crumble to the rumbling, squirting of colonic trumpets, as some inner Jericho.

The problem, as far as Integra could ascertain, with any sense of definition, was that this woman – was a fairy, or an elf, or like it. And she'd never met an elf before. Nor had she even believed they'd existed, because even though she'd faced down some really terrifying abominations with her steely gaze and steelier temperament, Integra had never had an inhuman creature drop by for tea and tartlets. On top of that, Alucard was eyeing her in the way that a particularly vicious dog eyes up a rabbit – but in this case, the rabbit was perfectly content to sit there and stare back. And there was, as far as Integra was concerned, nothing more disconcerting than being stared down by dinner.

And finally, just to add insult to injury, this… person… had waltzed through the finest army money could buy. Or at least hire, considering who they were. Then had the gall to just up and ask for help about some war or another, which Integra really didn't consider any of her business or even on her planet.

If she was a fairy, that was. Integra wasn't sure. But then again, 'Queen Hoarfrost' wasn't actually eating the cake, just sucking on it, and people who did that generally weren't normal.

But still; the cheek of it.

The general ignominy of it.

It didn't bear thinking about.

"So, this war – what's it about?" asked Seras, around a mouthful of Bakewell. "And why do you need Sir Integra?"

"It is a war of good versus evil. Darkness versus light. Low-cut, elegant dresses versus craven, undomesticated yoke-spittle. A hundred years ago, my father and sister travelled through the Circle of Souls to here and enlisted the help of Sir Helsing, a man of great stature, said my father… and apparently girth, so says my sister… and he came to defeat the Evil Sarrawan and his minions before they destroyed Avalon and encroached upon man's domain."

"So Sarrawan's kicking up a fuss again?"

"Oh no," said Hoarfrost. "He's very dead. Now it is the Unseelie court that defies the orders of the illustrious Page Maid, and so wages destruction upon both our worlds. Sir Helsing dragged Sarrawan into the mortal domain, where Sir Helsing's pet dog, a vile beast named Aculardi, put him on a big stick." She put down her tart and spat on the floor. "Ptwee," she said as she did. "Ptwee, on the name of Aculardi, dog of Helsing."

This to Integra was somewhat more interesting and deep a question than she would have given Seras credit for asking. Under her silk and frilly nightdress, her guts roiled.

"Why?" asked Integra, casting an eye at Alucard whose fingers curled and uncurled as if imagining a thin and pretty ice-white neck between them.

"Aculardi is a vampire; from the domain of evil."

Integra thought about that. "Yes. I suppose it's true." She sighed. "If this war isn't to continue, how would I stop it?"

With a sudden twinkling of the eyes, her pretty bosom heaving, the young probably-elf leapt up and clasped her hands together. Her eyelids fluttered prettily. "Oh, Sir Hellsing – you would need to come with me, to Annwyvn through the Circle of Souls, and stop the Unseelie Court using either your wit or weaponry. We're not too fussy." She bowed again, this time her hair landing in her tea, but she didn't seem to mind. "Oh help us Sir Hellsing. You're only hope."

At which point Pip walked in and pointed at the door and said, "why is zere a horse in ze guard room?"

He walked over to Walter and collected a proffered Bakewell tart and then looked at everyone else. "Ze're feeding it sugar lumps. I don't think we'll be able to get it out; I came in and said 'Sacre bleu! Why iz zere a hoss in my guard room!' and all zey did was look at me like I am inzane." He looked at Hoarfrost like she was insane. First up, then down, then up again, then specifically about three-quarters up, then down again. "Who'z ze fille?"

"She," replied Walter carefully, "is Hoarfrost; Ice Queen of Annwvyn."

"Shit," said Pip, "we've got two ice-queens now?"

Integra ignored him, which was the best thing to do in these circumstances. She patted her pockets for a cigar, but found to her chagrin that not only did she not have any cigars, but also she didn't have any pockets. Thankfully Walter was on hand to deliver and light one, and she fugged away happily for a bit, thinking.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

The Elf-Queen scratched her nose. "I could ask your brownie to come out," she said after a bit. "He might not want to, however. They are very secretive." She closed her eyes, put her hand to her forehead and warbled at the back of the throat in an unedifying and disturbing manner.

Silence hung on the air like a gallows noose. Nothing stirred. Everyone listened carefully. And as if by magic, which – in fact – it was, there was a low snuffling noise. It came from behind Seras' seat.

Then it came from under Seras' seat.

Seras closed her eyes and brought her feet up to her chest, as whatever the snuffling thing was moved out from under the sofa and into the light of the living room.

A collective exhalation of breath. Seras opened her eyes.

Sitting on the coffee-table was a little ball of brown fur, about eight inches high. It walked on two furry legs; and from its front – or at least, what Seras assumed was the front – a proboscis like an ant-eaters protruded.

"Awwwww," cried Seras, "it's so cute!"

The brownie ignored this, and instead started stacking the empty cake-plates into a neat pile and hoovering up the crumbs from the polished table surface with its nose.

"Look! It's even doing a Walter! It's cleaning up before we've finished!" Seras continued. She reached out for it, at which point it grabbed hold of the third-finger on her right hand and wouldn't let go until she hit it with the tea-pot. It scurried away, snuffling and warbling, into the darkness.

"Bastard bit me!" Seras showed off the ring of gashes on her finger, which would probably be bleeding if she had any blood to do so.

There was a long silence. Finally Integra said; "If I go with you, will you get the horse _and_ that furry thing out of my house?"

"My liege!" Hoarfrost grinned, "we head for the Circle of Souls!"

The Hellsing household rose from their seats.

Hoarfrost sat down.

"This -" she sustained the grin "- calls for a celebration by much partaking of alcohol!"

- - - - - - - - - -

Hoarfrost rode her horse. The Hellsing troop flew. It was not a good flight, being as it was still blowy and rainy and with the things that go with a blowy, stormy flight; like airsickness and grumpiness and a gypy stomach, but still – they got there safe and sound. Where, you may ask, was there?

Well…

It is a general fact that folklore puts the entrances to the land of fairies and elfs in a number of places, but mostly in a place of ancestral power and frequently with lots of greenery and shrubbery and mythical qualities. Pixie rings, the circle of mushrooms or toadstools that sometimes grow in secluded woodlands, are one such gateway – oft-stated as the entrance to other places outside space and time, like the Land of the Dead, or Earth _circa_ 1972. Stonehenge has sometimes been declared a door-way to the infernal regions, if only because it's too goddamn big to have made a good druidic pocket-watch, and so have other features of innate and omnipresent mystical energy.

Integra had never heard of a fairy ring being made out of coke-cans, dirty syringes and used prophylactics behind the toilets of a Carlisle park's football pitch. The smells were interesting to say the least. And so the Hellsing troupe stood there, the rest of the honour guard of mercenary squaddies forming a cordon against the untold horrors of drunken ten-year olds wondering why helicopters have landed on their green and busy-bodies bemoaning today's youth and their helicopter-landing stunts.

And amongst it all, Alucard was bored. And angry. He'd remained non-existent throughout the flight, preferring the delights of instantaneous teleportation. So while everyone else was en route, he'd stayed back at home and – much to his pleasure and amusement – licked all the mouth ends of Integra's cigars. It will make up for the indignity of working with a fairy, he thought bitterly.

Everyone had got dressed. This irked him, because if the fairy hadn't turned up, Integra would still be flouncing away in her silk-cut. And not of the cigarette variety either. But still – it was one of those things. You could no more bemoan your fate than what breakfast you'd had that morning; and he knew it.

"What needs to be done is that each of the wanders enters the circle, and holds hands," Hoarfrost was saying demurely, "and then we all jump up and as we do so – BAM!" She brought her hands together in a delicate clap. "Off to Annwvyn."

Seras hoisted her Harkonnen over her shoulder and mulled. "Sounds simple enough."

"And of course," continued Hoarfrost, unfazed, "each journeyer must be pure."

"Pure." Integra pulled one of the few cigars unchristened by Alucard from her pocket and lit it. "In what sense?"

"As pure as driven snow. Refined of flesh . Unbroken. Undefiled by the lust of carnality. Budded. Blossomed but still flowered. Chaste."

"So, a virgin then?" asked Seras.

"Ah," said Pip, who was chewing his cigarette. "Zat's not me then. Cent dix-sept girls an' counting."

"What about you, Alucard?" asked Integra. To the vampire's chagrin, she was smirking.

"Elves aren't my business," he said as evenly as possible.

"That's an order, Alucard."

"Yes, Master." Seras piped up now. "It'll be interesting."

"Some orders are beyond following," said Alucard a little less evenly. He sneered at Seras. "And you, Police-Girl, you wish to play with fey-folk, then do it off your own back."

Seras pouted then muttered something which sounded like "sturgeon" under her breath, before eyeing Walter. "You'll come, won't you Walter?" She beamed at him.

"1953, Elizabeth Chadbourne, the back of a Land Rover."

"Oh." Her beaming was cut short; like a power-cut on Star Trek. "I guess it's just you and me, Sir Integra."

Hoarfrost seemed unconvinced. She looked around at them all again, frowning. At the end of a fourth scan of their faces, she stopped. "I'm sure the frog can come." She pointed.

Pip Bernadotte, who was not inclined to general racism unless he was the one dishing it out, managed to half-say something rather inelegant in Gallic before he turned into a common-or-garden amphibian.

His complaint was cut off into a deep and surprised _ribbet_.

"Riiiiibbit," he went.

Then: "Ribbit, ribbit."

Then: "Ribit."

Then he shut up, hopped about a few times, and sat quite still, appearing to pay careful attention to what Hoarfrost did next.

What she did next was say; "now we can take him with us."

"That's good to know," said Seras, in a manner that didn't correspond to her phrase, and she picked up the slimy Pip with her free hand and placed him with a wet splat on her shoulder. He clung there, bulbous eyes rolling around for a while, before settling into a position whereby he was inclined – both physically and mentally – enough to stare at the roundedness of Seras' breasts.

"Now, we must travel!" Hoarfrost beckoned the two other women to her. Integra puffing away on her cigar, her gut grumbling and complaining dreadfully; Seras a little gingerly stepping over the detritus that this now presumably proved fairy had laid out, and – with a bit of cajoling they gripped Hoarfrost's outstretched hands.

"Jump!" cried Hoarfrost.

"Jump yourself," Integra said, through half-clenched teeth, but she did so anyway.

And when they hit the ground they weren't in Carlisle anymore.

- - - - - - - - - -

Alucard and Walter waited for a bit to see if they'd come back; which they didn't.

"You know something more about this than you're letting on, don't you Alucard?" asked the butler. He walked over to the circle and made to sweep the bits away with his feet, but then thought better of it. Instead he checked they hadn't disappeared behind the dumpster or were hiding in one of the outside lights.

"They didn't ask," replied Alucard. He flicked a bit of imaginary lint off his collar. "Shall we go for a drink and a bite to eat?"

"Will they be back soon?"

Alucard didn't stop to think about it. "I doubt any time soon."

"Ah. Best make the most of it then."

**_TO BE CONTINUED_**


End file.
